


On Her Wings

by subspacecommunication (nattherat)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assault, Gen, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mirror Universe, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13603683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattherat/pseuds/subspacecommunication
Summary: Her position had always been a perilous one. When her palace on Earth is stormed by Lorca and his men out for her blood, Empress Georgiou is forced into hiding, seemingly losing her throne and her daughter in one fell swoop. Allies come from unexpected places however, protecting her and the crown both, and Philippa begins to feel that most insidious and cruel emotion of all; hope.Set entirely in Mirrorverse, at the time of Lorca's first attempted coup.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For once this isn't based on my redesigned aliens! Mostly. However it is based on some headcanons and rewriting of mirrorverse. This mirrorverse isn't evil for the sake of it, it's more just an extremely cynical version of primeverse, with a different governing system, because I prefer the idea of the characters being reflections than opposites. Some explanation of the ruling system can be found in this post: http://subspacecommunication.tumblr.com/post/170501417686/actually-ill-write-some-more-mirrorverse-au-stuff but a TLDR version is that the Terran Empire is a capitalist monarchy.  
> Also, to get it out of the way straight away: They don't eat Kelpien, because eating slave stock is a pretty inefficient thing to do frankly, even ignoring the fact that if you keep them as slaves, then you must acknowledge sentience enough to make it cannibalism. Kelpien are eaten by some species, but when the Terran Empire conquered those worlds and took possession of the farms, Kelpien became slaves instead of livestock. Anybody who has the riches to own slaves will not be eating those slaves, they will be working them.  
> Hmm and also I call her Empress, rather than Emperor. I understand why they thought that "emperor" was degendering, but an implied male default isn't degendering at all imo, so Empress it is.  
> Anyway, I think that's the required context out of the way, please... enjoy!

_The best laid plans_ , Philippa thought.

 

Smoke filled her nostrils and her vision, and sirens blared. She desperately tried to make out shapes in the darkness, gritting her teeth, furious as she was pulled down the corridor by her Kelpien. The slave’s hands pushed into her sides, with strength that threatened to cause injury if he didn’t let go soon. His damned ganglia glowed, throwing her vision and making them a target.

 

He pulled her against the wall, sidling along, breathing heavily as he felt the panels in a panic. Shouts and phaser fire accompanied the sirens, and an explosion caused them both to freeze a moment. He was holding her too close, scared and useless, she wouldn’t be able to draw her sword on any attacker. Philippa shook him off angrily, ignoring the whimper as she stepped away.

 

“What are you looking for?” She hissed, eyes darting to either end of the corridor, trying to find any hints of traitors among the smoke.

 

“W-way out.” He mumbled, in a state enough for his knees to be shaking.

 

“Tell me,” Philippa commanded, and followed his pointed finger to the next panel along. She observed it, ran her hands over it. She knew her palace, and there was no way out where he indicated. If she found one, it would be unauthorised, and a severely punishable offense. She smiled. _Devious_.

 

The Kelpien pulled himself along the wall and reached his long arms to the top of the panel; a place no Terran could ordinarily reach, Philippa noted. With a metallic scrape that was far too loud, it gave way on hinges that certainly were not part of the blueprints of her palace, and revealed a crudely dug hole. Shorn metal that gave way to punctured concrete and then to mud and grime and total darkness, as it entered the mountain her palace nestled into. She had time to sneer in disapproval of it before the slave grabbed her roughly and forced her in. Her coat tore immediately, catching on sharp protruding metal, and her hands and knees began to sting as she pulled herself along the tunnel. Behind her she heard the panel scrape back into place and lock, plunging her into total darkness. For a brief and unpleasant moment, she _actually_ feared the Kelpien had locked her in a hole to die. Any Terran might have. Then his hands caught on her coat as he crawled behind her, and the damp rocks glistened faintly with purple from his ganglia.

 

Good. She needed her ally.

 

“S-straight ahead, your Highness,” He whispered, and she resisted the urge to scoff. There was hardly another direction to follow. Her hands scraped on sharp stone and she hissed, knowing she had drawn blood. Her scabbard weighed her down and dragged along the ground, and if it didn’t feel such a part of her, she would have discarded it there and then. As it was, the coat could be sacrificed, and she stopped suddenly to shrug it off.

 

“Leave it,” She ordered, when she heard the slave pick it up. The rustling of fabric stopped, but she knew he would disobey.

 

The noise of the treacherous Gabriel Lorca’s coup faded as they crawled ever further through the dark tunnel. She began to hear her own breathing and hated it. Her hands felt searing pain and she hated that too. The only thing she didn’t hate about the whole situation was the creature crawling behind her. She couldn’t remember his number, and she would not humiliate him with a name of her own choosing, but she would remember his loyalty. Provided he was not leading her into a trap, but she doubted it. Kelpien were desirable servants precisely because they lacked ambition and were weak willed. Hers had no ambitious desires, and he had been loyal since they met.

 

A sharp shard of rock went straight into her palm, and she cried out, stopping in her tracks and sitting against the wall to try and prise the grit from her hand in the darkness. She was furious, and making mistakes. She looked back, and her Kelpien had stopped too. She could just make out him looking in her direction from his ganglia, and she found herself annoyed that her skin was so much thinner and fragile than his. Her trousers were ripped and every graze burned. She would rather a fatal sword fight than to be crawling on her belly, limping away from battle like a weakling.

 

Philippa squeezed her eyes shut with a growl, leaning back against the uncomfortable rocks and giving her hands a moment to stop burning. The shard had pierced her sword hand through the weakened grazed skin, and she couldn’t flex it for pain.

 

“Don’t,” She ordered, as she felt the Kelpien take her hands. He disobeyed and kept hold of them, brushing the dirt away and squeezing at her palm to remove the lodged stone. She cried out again, and was ashamed of the noises coming from her throat, ashamed that tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t pull her hands away. He could see better than her in the darkness, and she couldn’t crawl further without doing something about her hand. He dug his nails in and she gasped, drawing her knees up and flinging her head forward to bite down on her arm. She couldn’t hear the sirens any more, but she wouldn’t risk anybody hearing her scream. He struggled to get the stone out and she growled into her arm, growing increasingly furious. Chased out of her palace, forced to escape in one of the most undignified ways imaginable, and incapacitated by a _fucking pebble_. She cursed that she didn’t carry a dagger on her person, the stone needed digging out.

 

The Kelpien had the same idea evidently, as Philippa saw the glint of something sharp and metal and her eyes grew wide. He wouldn’t hurt her. She was at least partly certain of it. But she would be an easy kill in that tunnel. A very easy kill. She didn’t have her full armour on, the space was too confined to fight, her only weapon too large to wield even if she were capable of wielding it with her injuries. The idea of dying helpless in a dark tunnel, away from her rightful throne, her daughter, her people, was too much. She closed her eyes, and cursed herself when she inadvertently _whimpered_.

 

“I-I am sorry, your Highness.”

 

Her breath hitched as she was hit with a new wave of fear that his words were a precursor to her murder, but then she felt the blade on her hand rather than her throat. He gripped her hand tightly so she couldn’t pull it away, and dug the blade in to gain leverage against the stone. She screamed into her arm, balling her other hand into a fist, concentrating on how it made the grazes burn even more intensely. For an agonising moment, it felt like it would never end, but with a change in sensations that made her dizzy, the stone tumbled from her hand and blood ran freely. She panted and heard the Kelpien ripping up some fabric, from his own clothes or from her coat - she didn’t care which it turned out to be, and he made quick work of wrapping it around her hand firmly. Her left arm ached from her bites, and she concentrated on it, trying to ignore the dizziness. It was exactly why she needed such a heavy guard. She loathed it, but even a little blood loss had a way of getting to her.

 

“Where _the hell_ did you get a knife?” Philippa growled, eyes squeezed shut and breathing into her knees. Deep down, and almost entirely buried, she knew that kinder words may be ‘thank you’, but pride and a need for control won out.

 

“The kitchens,” his voice was small, almost sorrowful, and she regretted speaking harshly. _Don’t bite the hand that feeds you_ came to mind. He was her rescuer, and that deserved _something_.

 

“I…” she sighed, the word stuck in her throat. Emperors did not apologise.

 

“That pleases me,” Philippa finished instead, wishing she could see his response in the darkness. After all, she _did_ like it when he took initiative, she could see there was more to him hidden beneath the surface when he did such things.

 

“Thank you for not driving it into my throat,” she added with sarcasm, but not deliberately. She regretted herself again. Emperors did not regret either.

 

“I would never,” came the small reply, and she believed it.

 

She swallowed, determined to leave it there before she pushed him away further. It wouldn’t do to discard her only ally at the time. She sighed, leaning back against the rock again to regain the last of her breath. A thumb brushed her exposed wrist and she realised the Kelpien still held her hand. A more insidious part of her twisted in her stomach; he had become more entitled to touch than appropriate. She was Empress, and a Terran besides, and he had no right to touch her unbidden. She clenched her teeth to stop herself from snapping at him and snatched her hand back. He obeyed her this time.

 

“It is not much further, your Highness,” he offered.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to calm her temper. She wasn’t furious with him, but with the traitors ransacking her palace. They would be slaughtering her servants, destroying heirlooms and history, but most abhorrent of all, the theft of her daughter. It made her seethe. Too long she had let Lorca weave lies around her Michael, she had let Michael stray too far and now she had lost her. Instead of saving her child, she was saving her own skin crawling in the dirt. _It was infuriating_.

 

“Your Highness. There are too many of them, you cannot save her if you are dead.”

 

Of course he knew what was going through her head. He had known her for long enough.

 

“I am worried for her too.”

 

She looked at him suddenly, at least in his direction, still able to make out the tips of his ganglia. It wasn’t a surprising thing for him to say, and she did know it to be true. Her Kelpien had been the only servant she had trusted with the safety of her daughter. She had seen him treat Michael’s scraped knees after training, bring her food unbidden when he knew she needed it, maintain her armour perfectly. A Kelpien slave had been more of a father to her daughter than the miserable stain-on-the-universe Lorca was.

 

She swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit too vulnerable. It was one thing to think of the Kelpien as part of their family, another to acknowledge that. Her position had already been compromised enough that Lorca gained support to assault the palace. It would do no good to worsen her position. She inhaled sharply, and resumed crawling, slower as she held her injured hand to her chest.

 

The air began to feel cooler as they moved, and it occurred to Philippa that the rocks glistened in the cave because there had to be an underground water source that they were now making their way towards. She had no idea what direction she was going in, or how far she had travelled, being without the conveniences of her devices. His hands brushed her ankles and calves as they crawled, and it brought her reassurance. Her eyes could offer her nothing, and only his presence made her believe she was heading towards safety rather than an ambush.

 

She resorted to using her arms and elbows to crawl, her remaining hand having gave out to too much pain to be useful, panting hard. It hurt even more, but at last she began to be able to make out more detail in the rocks she clambered over, faint light spilling through the tunnel. She dragged herself along with renewed energy, following the flickering light through the turns as it became more and more gold - a familiar and comforting colour - and brighter still. She could see her hands now, bloodied and dirtied, her jacket ripped along the sleeves. She could smell damp and hear water.

 

At last Philippa rounded the tunnel to emerge into a cavern lit by scattered torches placed for practicality rather than decoration. She stood, relieved to finally take the strain from her knees and hands. She turned, and held out her good hand for her Kelpien as he crawled out behind her, and he froze, unsure what to do. He looked down and offered the side of his head to her, and she let out a quiet exasperated laugh. She hadn’t touched his ganglia in all his years of service, and she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She had seen slavemasters use the telepathic bond against them, forcing the Kelpien to their will entirely. She had seen torture, brutality, but nothing prepared her for how swift, ruthless, and inhumane the robbing of will from Kelpiens was. She wondered about the bond. She thought about it with a nagging curiosity. Sometimes she wished her Kelpien responded to her orders like those under slavemasters.

 

But she wouldn’t do it.

 

Philippa shook her head, and tried for a smile, knowing full-well it appeared more as a smirk. He simply looked more confused and reached for his shoulder, where as she suspected, he carried the coat she had ordered him to leave behind.

 

“I’m trying to help you up,” She explained.

 

He exhaled and she could tell he was relieved. She didn’t like to see him so tense, and she knew it was partly her anger that was the cause. He took her hand gently, though he soon towered over her once he stood. She looked at his large hand in hers, barely touched by the stones that had shredded her own skin. His grey tunic was scuffed, but merely with dirt and not with blood, as her own clothes were. The knife with her blood on it was tucked into the side of his tunic, and she reached for it.

 

“It’s foolish to have this there,” she murmured as she removed it, and then removed one of her belts and wrapped it around him, tucking his knife into three of the ammunition loops as a highly makeshift scabbard.

 

“A single wrong move and you might have gutted yourself,” she said, louder, taking a step back and increasing the distance between them again. She surmised that she might one day be able to simply say “thank you” without the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, but it did not seem to be that day. She looked him up and down, not looking too dishevelled for someone who had crawled through the mountain for however long, her coat draped over one shoulder like a sash, and the gold belt suited him. Gold suited him.

 

“You look good.”

 

He cleared his throat nervously, obviously unsure how to respond to the belt and her words. He settled for a bow, nodding his head respectfully and then shaking out her coat and holding it for her. She climbed in, shrugging it on and thinking nothing of his efforts to smooth out her sleeves from habit. She felt more like herself with it on, and she noted it was intact. She looked at her hand. The makeshift bandages were grey. Of course he wouldn’t dream of ripping her coat, he had even carried it neatly folded. Guilt stung her, that he had given up some of his far flimsier and thin tunic than rip the lining of her coat. It was a useless thought of course, it wasn’t proper for him to take any other course of action.

 

Philippa stepped away again, intending to do as she always did and lead the way, before remembering she was unfamiliar with the caverns. Stubbornness told her to head in one direction regardless, but she was no fool. She had come so far, she could swallow a little more pride.

 

“I will follow you,” she told him. The Kelpien flustered, but nodded, beginning to walk the damp rocks, hooves clicking against the hard surface. “...Where are your shoes?”

 

She’d had them specially made, claiming she was taking him with her up the peaks of Vulcan, and would not suffer an injured slave should the mountains split his hooves. It wasn’t a lie. She _did_ take him to Vulcan and his hooves _did_ survive the climbs.

 

“It is… was, the day of inspection,” came his short reply. It was explanation enough; Philippa could not be everywhere at once, and it would be assumed that her Kelpien had stolen the shoes if one of the masters found him with them. It was wise for him not to have worn them. He walked slowly, and she noted his voice was slightly hushed. She followed suit and took lighter steps, curling her good hand around the hilt of her sword, both to silence the swinging metal, and to keep it at the ready. She could duel left-handed, if need-be.

 

The sound of running water gradually became louder as they walked, guided by crudely placed lamps. Some burned, most were long out of oil, but Philippa noted that those that burned were at regular intervals. The distribution of oil had been deliberate, with the intent of ensuring the path remained clear for as long as possible.

 

“Who made this?” She demanded suddenly. Her voice came out as such a bark that the Kelpien startled, looking back at her in worry. She held up the hand wrapped in bandages, simple gestures being the only use for it at present, and continued in a quieter tone.

 

“Who made this? The tunnels. This. Who assembled and lit these lamps?”

 

“...We did.”

 

The Kelpien indicated for her to step ahead of him and look out to their next destination, and she did so. Their cavern opened up into a space that could truly be called cavernous, and where they stood was a rocky outperch overlooking the vast cave. Enough lamps were dotted around it to light much of it up, and at the base was an underground river. The water they had heard. It glowed orange from the lights, and a few weeds had actually managed to take root among the embankment. It was then that Philippa noticed the figures, tall and thin, preparing two boats that bobbed in the shallows. The flickering light illuminated their grey near-identical tunics. Kelpien. And only Kelpien. Though she did not have their numbers, and could not make out their faces from her distance, she suspected that the twenty-or-so she could see were all from the palace. Their tunnel had joined on to many more once it opened up enough to walk, and her palace was the only building nestled into that mountain. She turned to look at her Kelpien, and his expression was one of fear and anticipation.

 

“You have taken quite the risk.”

 

It was an understatement. He had revealed to her that not only had Kelpien excavated a network of escape tunnels for themselves, they were using those tunnels to escape the slaughter at her palace instead of doing as they were expected to do; die in place of their masters.

 

“To save your life,” he replied, dropping to his knees and bowing his head. “No Terran knows of these tunnels, not one. He nor his men will find you here.”

 

She could not speak immediately, moved by his loyalty. Of course there was a tactical aspect to things as well. If Lorca took her throne, life for Kelpiens would worsen. It was more advantageous to have her, an Empress he could suggest to, than Lorca who would have him slain to send a message.

 

As she looked into his large eyes however, Philippa wasn’t sure her Kelpien had assessed the situation so shrewdly. She felt her own expression soften, and her heart quickened.

 

There was a shrill scream, and she whirled around, her thoughts forgotten. The Kelpien by the riverbank huddled together, clutching at each other, the faint illumination from their ganglia just visible at her distance. They had seen her. She exhaled with resignation as they stumbled back. She was the last Terran they would want to see, she knew.

 

“I think you should take the lead again,” she said quietly to the servant behind her, and he was by her side in an instant. The Kelpien down below gasped, muttering to each other now her servant was in view.

 

“Perhaps I should pose as your hostage.”

 

“We do not take hostages,” He shook his head. “That is a Terran thing to do, and we will not have any part in it.”

 

She smiled, a genuine grin she couldn’t help, and he gave a small reserved smile back. Hearing him speak freely was delightful, especially when it was something so willful. She thought it tactically foolish, to dismiss the opportunity, but that was what she liked about her Kelpien; he was no tactician.

 

“You will need to explain my being here,” she replied. “They’re scared, aren’t they?”

 

He nodded, and cautiously started down the crude stone steps that led down to the river from their ledge, indicating for her to follow. She took her hand from the hilt of her sword, looking at her escaped subjects as they shrank away from their approach. They were physically uninjured, from what she could see, but visibly very distressed. She felt something then, very slight; sympathy. Asking them to stand and fight how she would ask a Terran to stand and fight was simply unreasonable, they huddled together and waited for her judgement like lambs to slaughter. Resignation wasn’t devotion, no matter how much the lords wanted to claim it as such.

 

One of them, seemingly the bravest, shakily put themselves at the front of their group. She could not tell which of their binary sexes they were. They chattered at her Kelpien and Philippa realised with a sinking feeling that lacking her devices also meant she lacked the translator. She had been so used to her Kelpien speaking Terran Standard, she had missed the absence of the mechanical hum usually accompanying all speech. They spoke in hurried tones, the other Kelpien watching her warily as she waited. She didn’t like the lack of control, and felt the urge to bark orders rising. They were _her_ servants, after all. They were also her saviours. She closed her eyes a moment and reminded herself it was _their_ tunnels that had saved her from certain death, curbing her temper.

 

She heard _Empress_ , a word they apparently had no equivalent for, and snapped to look at her Kelpien. Their negotiations seemed tense, but she could tell by her servant’s posture that he was winning. He stood taller and more resolute, language she could recognise across their species. She held up her hands a little, a humiliating but necessary gesture of surrender. More than a few eyes focussed on her injured hand, and it decidedly caused a shift in the group’s feelings. She gritted her teeth as she sensed pity, and held up her head proud. She needed help. She was not helpless.

 

Her Kelpien exchanged a few more trilling words, moving to stand closer to her side. She didn’t need a translator to know he had said something to the effect of her being his responsibility. She bore it. It seemed he was successful as most of the group returned to preparing the boats, and two remained, staring at her. They were smaller and even more slight than her Kelpien, which seemed almost impossible. It was unthinkable that the savage Ferasan had ever thought to farm them when there was no meat on their bones. One stepped forward, addressing her timidly in Terran Standard.

 

“W-we request to h-hide you, your Highness.”

 

Philippa raised an eyebrow, but swallowed her sarcastic response. Hiding was the entire reason she was dirty and bloodied in a cave surrounded by escapees. It was necessary to curb her anger in front of her would-be rescuers.

 

“I would be glad of it,” she stated, and the two shrank back. It was frustrating that her efforts to thank them still came out in a severe enough tone to frighten them, and she couldn’t understand why.

 

“Yes, your Highness. I-I am AMA-32, and this,” the Kelpien indicated their even more timid companion. “Is AMA-57. We are maids. W-we will wait on you.”

 

“That… won’t be necessary,” Philippa replied, as softly as she could manage. She kept a grin from her face. Their identifiers placed them in the service of one of her most difficult lords, and it satisfied her that they had abandoned him. Served the posturing windbag right. “I have an attendant.”

 

The two looked up at her Kelpien and he nodded, turning to her.

 

“They mean to say that they will help you change, your Highness.”

 

“Change?” She asked, a little indignantly.

 

“You cannot wear what you are wearing on the journey. There is a stretch through open woods, and we fear you will be easily spotted.”

 

He did not mention that her being spotted would also spell death for every Kelpien accompanying her, but she knew it. She was reluctant to comply, but it was necessary. She flexed her good fist, but nodded, stepping over to the two maids. They crowded around her and took her away from the others, shielding her with their tall bodies as they undressed her. First her coat, then her breastplate. She flushed involuntarily, feeling much too vulnerable without it. AMA-32 unfastened her remaining belt and removed the sword and scabbard, and allowing herself to be disarmed with no resistance was one of the most difficult things Philippa had to do. They went to peel off her jacket, but 57 paused, unsure of what to do with Philippa’s injured hand, or the bracer she wore. She sighed, it was a waste of a jacket.

 

“My attendant has a knife,” she supplied, and 57 looked confused and then relieved, turning to her Kelpien.

 

“Two-Nine,” the maid called for him, and Philippa remembered it as his number. She made a note of it, in place of “her Kelpien”.

 

“I will only allow him to use the knife,” Philippa added as 29 walked over to them. He stopped, his eyes respectfully to the floor despite that she wasn’t wholly undressed. She softened a little. She hadn’t allowed him to do her bathing or her dressing for years, for reasons she preferred to keep buried, and he was attempting to honour her instruction. She held out her injured arm to him, and he finally looked up.

 

“My sleeves will need to be cut open,” she ordered, out of habit, more than anything else. She took effort to soften her voice again. “I would ask that you do it.”

 

29 nodded, pulling the knife from the belt and stepping closer to her. She startled slightly as he entered her personal space, one hand reaching inside her opened jacket to pull it over her shoulder. It made sense of course, it was far less risky to cut down from the shoulder, aiming the blade away from her. But his hand was also on her exposed skin and it was warm and rough. She tried to concentrate on the blade instead.

 

29 slipped the knife in along the seam, then angled it to lie almost flat against her skin, the cutting edge aimed up slightly to decrease the risk. He slid it down her limb, using his free hand to hold her at the upper arm to keep it steady. The process was slow, with his caution, and Philippa began to feel self-conscious. She looked at him, his expression one of care, large blue eyes focussed in on navigating the knife past her elbow safely. He caught her watching and she quickly looked away, instinct telling her to look nonchalant. The sleeve gave way at her wrist and fell from her, and he repeated the motions to her other side, leaving her top half covered only by her standard issue vest. His eyes wandered from her face to her hair, and he plucked the golden hairpin from her with his free hand. She swallowed. She no longer looked like royalty.

 

29 bowed, gathering up her shed clothes as 32 kneeled to unfasten her boots. It was going to be hell on her feet. The boots came off, and Philippa pulled the socks off with them, since the damp floor would make them worse than barefoot. 57 began to remove her trousers and Philippa stopped the Kelpien, reaching the limit of her discomfort.

 

“I can manage myself,” she said to her maids, and they stepped back obediently. Philippa opened her mouth to ask what she would be changing into, but 29 had already fetched a grey bundle from the boat. Servant clothes. She grimaced, but pulled the tunic over her head. He had fetched a larger size to account for her body not being shaped like a Kelpien, but the sleeves hung loosely past her hands, covering her bracelet, and the hem reached her shins. It at least provided some privacy to remove her trousers, and she struggled with them single-handedly. Undignified, but she managed, and handed them to 29 who obediently took them. The servant leggings were easier to slip into, if not once again far too long for her. 57 kneeled again and rolled them up for her, and she didn’t fight.

 

When it was done, she looked herself down, undecorated. Her height and hair gave her away as not one of them, but perhaps at a distance she could be mistaken for one of the children. She looked up at her three helpers, and they seemed satisfied. Philippa nodded her own approval and fell into step behind 29. The rocky ground cut at her bare feet and she hissed, tredding carefully. Her Kelpien immediately turned and lifted her, and she exclaimed in shock. He carried her with ease to the boat, and she was too indignant to scold him for his repeated handling of her, especially when it did save her feet. He carefully lowered her into the boat, and the two maids sat either side of her on the wooden bench. Both of the boats were plain, but sturdy, and she thought about who had made them. Most Terrans assumed Kelpien stole or were gifted whatever they had, but the tunnels and the lamps indicated otherwise. They boats too, were sized for Kelpien. They had crafters. It was embarrassing that she hadn’t thought about that before.

 

The Kelpiens chittered to each other, filling the boats until it was time to cast off. 29 took a paddle on her boat, joined by the Kelpien she recognised as the one he had negotiated with earlier. The maids held her to steady her as they pushed off, the boat swaying from side to side. Philippa smiled a little, at their kindness, even if she did feel indignant about her situation.

 

They left the light cavern, slowly travelling down the dark underground river, with only small lamps on the boats to light the way. Of course, Kelpien had far better eyesight than she did. She could only make out muted patterns on the ceiling where the water - lit by the lamp - reflected.

 

Her mind wandered to the palace, to Michael. Even imagining the look on Lorca’s face, robbed of the opportunity to murder the Empress, did not reassure her. Would Michael be his next target? Would he allow her to take the crown that was rightfully hers, or would he remove her from the picture? Would she be able to protect herself? Philippa had taught her every martial art and weapon discipline she knew, but there had been no preparation for the power of Lorca’s words. She balled her fists up, she had failed as a mother, failed to protect Michael. Her daughter was in grave danger no matter what Lorca’s intentions were, and fury ran through her that she was powerless to do anything.

 

“You may rest, your Highness,” 32 whispered to her, breaking her thoughts a moment. “We shall keep you safe.”

 

She believed them too. 32 wrapped long arms around her, and 57 stroked her hair, the motions soothing. They were good maids, she could believe their concern in their new lady-to-wait-upon was genuine. A pleasant lie.

 

She let her eyes drift shut, gently rocked by the boat, thinking of Michael and falling into an uneasy light sleep, plagued by images of being unable to reach her before Lorca drove a sword into her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually some more context, because it's not supposed to be a big surprise or anything: 29 is Saru! He serves as the Empress's Attendant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kelpien take the Empress beyond the palace walls and out into the world beyond, and Philippa faces an unexpected obstacle in the form of their leader.

She had rounded the corner, and there he was, smirk on his face and a glint in his eyes. Her former adviser, Gabriel Lorca, had her murder written in his expression. She didn’t feel fear. She didn’t show fear. She refused to give him the satisfaction. His men raised their rifles and she flung herself behind cover just as the first blasts almost caught her foot. Her escort had moved into cover just as quickly, and she found herself roughly pulled up by one of her guards; the foot soldier Tilly.

 

The woman dragged Philippa out to safety, despite her protests that she wanted to fight, but Tilly was much more physically strong. She ran with Philippa, and phaser fire shot by their heads as they rounded the corner. They hardly managed twenty paces before the sound of heavy footfalls followed them down the corridor of her palace. It meant her guards were dead, and Tilly knew it too, growling and charging her weapon.

 

“You just made Captain of the Guard.”

 

“Not exactly the way I’d pictured my career progression,” Tilly hissed. Her phaser screeched dangerously with energy build-up, and she threw it behind them, the explosion from the overload blowing them forward and bringing down the corridor.

 

“You have bought us some time.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t know how much,” Tilly pulled her to her feet and resumed running, grabbing her secondary phaser with her free hand.

 

“Ugh, I _hate_ running.”

 

 _You and I both_ , Philippa thought. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors, and the sound of phaser fire grew louder. She realised, in disgust, that it could well be how she died; running away from a power-hungry snake-tongued terrorist.

 

“If Michael’s told him anything, he’ll know where your emergency transports are,” Tilly panted, and Philippa could hear the strain in her voice.

 

“We’ve got to get you out another way.”

 

“My chambers.”

 

“Really?” Tilly asked exasperated, and had their situation not been so dire, Philippa would have pulled her up on tone. The young woman had a habit of speaking above her station.

 

“Isn’t that the first place he’d have covered?!”

 

Alarms began to blare, and glass shattered somewhere nearby. Tilly held her pistol ahead and checked the stairwell, motioning for the Empress to follow. The Lady Cornwell met her at the top of the stairs, flanked by her personal guard. Philippa froze. She looked at her suspiciously, and Tilly looked between the both of them.

 

Katrina was among her counsel, and besides herself, was one of the most powerful women in the galaxy. The Lady had also had relations with Lorca, Philippa knew. Whether the Lady was aware that Lorca was grooming her beloved Michael at the same time, she did not know.

 

 

Katrina stared her down, thin-lipped and scrutinising, and Philippa glared back at her in defiance. She refused to die to either of them, almost daring Cornwell to betray her with her harsh gaze. The seconds she lost staring Katrina down were tense, but a satisfied smile broke across her features.

 

“Now isn’t the time for personal issues, your Highness,” Cornwell stated, raising her hand and waving her guards aside.

 

“The way behind me is clear. Go.”

 

She was surprised, but Philippa respectfully nodded. It was because their interests aligned of course, even if their personalities did not. No matter how much she liked Gabriel Lorca, Katrina could be counted on to put Empire first. Either way, it was a boon. Tilly led the way again, past the Lady’s guards and through the corridor leading to the wing of her chambers. Philippa cast a glance behind her and saw Cornwell’s guard walling off the entrance. After it was all over, she would need to repay the favour. Providing they survived it.

 

They neared the doors to her private home, and Philippa pressed her bracer to open them. Tilly would not be able to pass the shield reserved for royalty and closest family servants, but she was a capable - if sometimes reckless - young woman. Her heart sank as the doors hung, evidently having been tampered with.

 

“All right, another way then. Come on your Hi-“

 

There was a flash of grey and pink, and Philippa found herself held by a Kelpien - her Kelpien - who pulled at her.

 

“ **Fuck** ,” Tilly groaned, nursing her head from where she had fallen to the ground, pushed by Philippa’s overeager Kelpien.

 

“Those things are like a bank of torpedoes when they want to be. _Fuuuccck_.”

 

“She was _helping_ ,” Philippa hissed at him, wrestling herself free of his grip, glaring. He bowed apologetically and she understood it as an accident, but he still pulled at her sleeve incessantly.

 

“If he knows anything, you should go,” Tilly piped up, picking herself up off the floor.

 

“Michael’s gonna come here sooner or later and… I mean I’ll try and talk her down. She’s just mad, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’ll try and talk to her. But you should get out while you can, your Highness.”

 

Philippa nodded, putting a hand on Tilly’s shoulder. The woman offered her phaser, but Philippa pushed it back to her.

 

“You may need it. Thank you, _Captain_.”

 

She had time to register Tilly’s simultaneously confused and moved expression before her Kelpien grabbed her, pulling her down the other of the two corridors that had led to her wing. His ganglia were fully extended, glowing brightly, and she could scarcely keep up with his run. She stumbled over her feet trying to keep up, and he turned round suddenly to scoop her up before she fell. She let out an indignant yelp, finding herself carried seven feet from the ground, and at tremendous speed.

 

“Let me go at once!”

 

-

 

Philippa startled awake, feeling the boat jolt against something. She looked around blearily at Kelpien rising from the benches, and realised she was leaning heavily on 32, who gently stroked her arm. Philippa hoped her distressing dreams had not been apparent to any observers. She got up in a hurry, almost falling with a lurch of the boat, but 29 caught her. This time she didn’t argue at all when he picked her up with ease and placed her down gently on the embankment. She had thought it humiliating, but her rescuers seemed to have no concept of it as such, and she wasn’t met with a single derisive look.

 

As her maids disembarked, Philippa looked around. They were still in the cavern, but they had moored at an entrance to the outside world, and she could see Earth’s night sky illuminated with stars. The air was crisp and cool. Behind her, there were twenty boats, including those she arrived on, clustered at the bank - all Kelpien sized. She could not remember individual names or service numbers, but she certainly remembered things about her palace, and the boats corresponded _exactly_ to the number of Kelpien in service; some 200. She smiled wryly, a little discomforted by the apparent many things happening under her nose without her knowledge. But it was an impressive feat.

 

“There is a surveillance web surrounding my palace and grounds,” Philippa broke the silence, addressing 29. Several other Kelpien turned to look at her, but she remained resolutely focussed on her Kelpien. He paused from his task of wrapping her clothes and sword in more grey tunics.

 

“...We know.”

 

Philippa raised an eyebrow, beginning to wonder why they would never think to stage a coup of their own.

 

“Then I take it you know how to get past it?”

 

29 nodded, but didn’t offer anything further, finishing his bundle and securing it in a pack another Kelpien wore. She narrowed her eyes, displeased by someone else having her things, but she needed them more than they needed her. She could not afford to start barking orders, as much as the temptation was rising. She was vastly outnumbered, and Kelpien were ridiculously strong. She knew what they could do to metal. She did not wish to imagine what they could do to her bones. She bit her lip, looked to the ceiling, and swallowed her pride.

 

The group gathered against the far wall, and she resisted the urge to be obstinate and not follow. 29 put his arms around her again and she sighed, letting him know her distaste for his actions. He either did not understand the meaning, or he ignored it, because his hands remained fully on her shoulders. She settled for frowning at the cave entrance, almost hidden at their angle.

 

They waited in silence for longer than Philippa would have liked, and she turned to question 29 twice. The second time, he had the audacity to put his hand over her mouth, and she bit it. Hard. Lorca’s men could find the tunnels and swarm them, or fill the sky around the palace with drones, he might be attempting to murder her daughter at that very moment, and she was standing around in a cave doing nothing with no explanation.

 

“I have followed your instructions until now,” Philippa hissed at him lowly, as he cradled his hand and shrank back. She was aware the other Kelpien had shrank away too, but she didn’t care. “You have been insubordinate too many times this night, must I remind you that _I am your Empress?!_ How _dare you_.”

 

He sank to his knees immediately, but cramped against the wall, he was far too close to her. She moved to take a step back, personal comfort winning out over concern that her gesture would be submissive, but he caught her legs and wouldn’t let her move so that she could not step into view of the cave entrance. She raised her hand, breathing heavily, but then lowered it again. She had never struck him, and though he was on the line, he had served her house loyally for twenty five years.

 

“Explain yourself,” she demanded through gritted teeth. “And _remove your hands from my person_.”

 

He obeyed immediately, dropping his hands to the ground and gazing up at her. There was a little hurt in his expression, but her pride kept her from backing down.

 

“We cannot hide ourselves from scans as you can, your Highness,” 29 whispered. Some of the other Kelpien murmured quietly among themselves, and Philippa knew they were questioning how. Her bracelet was not common knowledge. At least, despite being caught without her other weapons or other equipment, she had the bracelet. It was likely the only reason she was still alive. It occurred to her then that his knowledge of the bracelet potentially explained why 29 allowed her into the Kelpien’s escape route; none could track her and find them. He surprised her.

 

“We must wait for the sensor sweeps to align and pass over, then make it to the border as fast as possible.”

 

“Two-Nine.”

 

Philippa finally paid attention to some of the other Kelpien, and she could see that the one that had called her Kelpien’s name was nearest the entrance, beginning to poise.

 

“I… I have to carry you again, your Highness. Please permit it.”

 

She considered her options, of which there were none. No Terran could run as fast as a Kelpien, and while her bracelet could mask her life signs, it did not make her physically invisible. Visual scans would see her. But she was tired of being picked up like a child. She nodded, and stepped behind his kneeling frame, bracing her legs either side of his waist. He understood, hooking his arms under her knees and standing once she had put her arms around his shoulders. The ground was now much too far away, and she tried not to look down lest she throw 29 off-balance.

 

They waited another few seconds, before the whole group leapt into action, sprinting out of the cave with a speed Philippa found nauseating for the second time that night. Everything blurred by in a rush, becoming nearly formless shapes she could only identify from knowing that her mountain descended into the forests they were entering. 29 weaved through them seemingly effortlessly, and she was forced to bury her head in his neck, scrunching her eyes closed. They lurched to and fro among the foliage, and Philippa concentrated on her breathing. The Kelpien were nearly silent, their hooves making much less noise than she would have anticipated for a herd of escaping slaves.

 

Their herd lumbered along in the dark, any light from her palace long since faded, and she noted they were still cautious despite their speed. They were remaining mindful of animal traps, she realised. She had hunted in those woods herself, as a little girl, with her mother. She hadn’t liked it. There was satisfaction to be had in besting enemies, yes. There was nothing to be gained from the slaughter of helpless animals. She swallowed with the memories. Nothing.

 

There was a call of distress, and Philippa snapped up to look despite the nausea. A small Kelpien was falling behind. It wasn’t a child, but it wasn’t long since a child either. It lagged behind 29 and looked at her with huge eyes as it tried to make up the distance, and Philippa swallowed once before tightening her grip with one arm and holding out a hand to the young thing. As it reached for her and closed it’s alien fingers around hers, it occurred to her that it wasn’t the most sound idea she had ever come up with. 29 was already carrying her weight, to add to his burden was short-sighted. She closed her hand tighter, keeping hold as it lept to keep up, helped by their momentum. It had been instinctual, and there was no backing out now.

 

Philippa held onto the young Kelpien’s hand with renewed determination, taking as much of the brunt on her own arm as she could. 29 had slowed, and she leaned forward to his ear so that she could be heard over the wind whipping past them.

 

“There is a child, they needed help.”

 

She owed him an explanation for slowing down his rescue, she would admit that much. 29 looked back, twisting slightly but barely breaking his gait, and nodded. He slowed to keep pace with the young one and Philippa let go of it’s hand, satisfied it wouldn’t be left behind. She doubted it would have been, but 29 was too occupied carrying her.

 

She buried her face again, nausea catching up to her, concentrating on her breathing as her stomach lept up and down with his strides. She clung tightly, no longer trying to watch the trees whip past them. Though the Kelpien seemed to know the forest well enough, she had not stepped foot in it since she was a child, and she had no hope of learning where they were.

 

It seemed like an age before 29 bounded to a stop, and she cautiously looked up. The group had gathered near a rock formation she could make out glistening with moss in the darkness. Philippa held her tongue, biting down demands. It was evident that the servants had their own plan, she had little choice but to comply. One by one, they slipped through the rocks, and as 29 lowered her to the ground and guided her into the opening, she understood; there was a tear in her palace grounds shield. Small enough for thin humanoids to creep through, where two rocks had moved enough to create a gap. She thought to have it investigated, before the disturbing thought that she might never return to the palace struck her. Philippa swallowed, burying it with anger, and stubbornly pushed through the rocks, head held high. She would return. She would see justice.

 

Philippa emerged from the opening, holding up a hand to reject assistance from 32. The forest floor was slippery and painful on her feet, but she bore it through pride. She would let none say she was weak. 29 stepped out behind her and moved to kneel at her feet again so that she could climb onto his back once more. She clenched her fists, almost ready to insist on walking for the sake of dignity. There would be no dignity once the forest rendered her feet unusable though, she knew, so reluctantly she resumed her perch.

 

“It is not much further, your highness.”

 

For the sake of her patience, she hoped not. The group moved again, this time slower, and closer together. She had thought the running was bad, but walking rocked her to and fro in an almost unbearable manner, and she scowled without direction. Moonlight faintly illuminated the forest around them where it broke the ceiling, and a few Kanchil moved around them. She noted the creatures were not frightened of Kelpien, and couldn’t help but imagine 29 with a pet Kanchil. It was an amusing thought that helped distract her.

 

She watched the small things follow them a while longer, before they lost interest. Philippa looked ahead for the reason, and her stomach sank as they approached the mouth of another cave. Had three of the Kelpien ahead in the group not stood keeping the foliage out of the way for the rest of them to pass through, she would have missed it. It was small and cramped, forcing them into single-file, and she felt 29 struggle.

 

“Set me down,” Philippa commanded quietly, and he obeyed, kneeling down so she could climb off his back. Her feet protested the moment they touched the cold stone, and she grimaced, knowing she was to pay the price for her consideration. She felt something touch her hand in the darkness and recoiled, before realising it was 29. Of course. He could see far better in the dark than she could.

 

“Allow me to guide you, your highness,” He closed his hand around hers and she permitted it, following where he lead cautiously. The walls of the cave scraped her sides, and the ground sloped down so steeply, she almost lost her footing a few times. Her toes ached quickly, and her heels followed shortly after, and she found herself taking short quick steps despite that it didn’t help.

 

Just when she believed that she truly had had enough of caverns for a lifetime, they finally emerged at their destination; a huge underground space with lanterns illuminating a sea of huts made from draped fabrics and dried grasses. There were Kelpien everywhere - at least the other one hundred and eighty or so from her palace, she suspected. Most sat in groups, some weaving baskets, some carving wood, and many moving between the groups seemingly carrying produce around. She could see raised farming platforms and the greens and yellows of Earth plants, and in the distance; an underground lake.

 

Philippa took a breath, letting the scene sink in. She wasn’t sure whether she was impressed or threatened. She could scarcely believe it, but she knew the settlement was entirely Kelpien without having to ask - there wasn’t another species in sight, and given their slave status, they would be fools to involve others. That they had created a seemingly self-sufficient underground village quietly under her nose, quietly inside Earth. A noteworthy feat to say the least. A smile curled her lips, and she let out a short laugh from the surprise. A few of the Kelpien in her party jumped away from her in fright, and 29 tensed up beside her, as her alien noise attracted attention. Groups closest to them looked up, gasping and recoiling as they saw her, and the wave of fear swept through everywhere she could see. Had she been any other ruler, perhaps she would feel proud of the response. As it was, it brought her no satisfaction. She gave a wry smile, holding her head up high for appearances, despite her slave garb.

 

Kelpien murmured among themselves, and watched her wearily. A particularly large one, flanked by three more, emerged from one of the huts and marched towards them with an… aggressiveness she had never observed in their species. Their eyes were fixated on her, furious, and her stomach coiled, recognising ill intent. It wouldn’t do to be frightened, but the Kelpien closed on her in moments, and before she had time to register what was happening, she felt the cracking and the searing agony in her skull and nose as she was struck to the ground. She crumpled, head swimming, vision blurred and dancing. Suddenly she was short on breath, arms wrapped around herself, feeling bile in the back of her throat, slowly managing to comprehend that she had been kicked in the stomach. She coughed and spluttered into dusty rocks, feeling blood run from her nose and faintly hearing voices she couldn’t understand. _Concussion?_ She thought slowly and without any ability to answer. Something within her wanted to get up and start punching, but she could not. She couldn’t grasp the concept of standing. She wasn’t sure where most of her body was at that time. Or what she was doing before she was on the floor.

 

Something patted at her, trying to move her, and she realised her eyes were shut. She didn’t remember shutting them, but she couldn’t open them either. She had vague sensations of being moved, slipping in and out of consciousness. Someone was talking to her, but she couldn’t tell what they were saying. There was much too much light assaulting her, even though her eyes were closed, but suddenly it was gone again. She ran out of energy, forgetting any thought of trying to see where she was, and fell into sleep.

 

It was dark when she opened her eyes again. For a few brief moments, Philippa could not remember anything that had happened, assuming she was in her chambers at the Palace. Then she saw three Kelpien sat around her, faintly illuminated from a small oil lamp beside where she lay. 32, 29, and a child that she didn’t recognise. She frowned, slowly recollecting her circumstances and finding them disagreeable.

 

“Are you all right, your highness?” 32 ventured, but Philippa couldn’t quite recall words immediately. Instead she pressed her eyes shut again, rolling onto her side in the hopes it would relieve her pain, her head aching. A hand began to pet her and she didn’t have the energy to snarl at whichever one was doing it. They talked to each other in their strange tongue, apparently confirming something before 32 rolled her back. Philippa snapped her eyes open and glared at them, trying to move away so that she could nurse her pain in peace, but 32 held her down by the shoulder easily, raising an instrument to her face that Philippa recognised as a regenerator after a brief moment of suspicion.

 

“I apologise. None of us have been formally trained in this device,” 32 offered by way of explanation before running the tool over where Philippa had been cradling. “I did not know whether you needed further threatment.”

She felt the discomforting sensation of tingling under her skin before feeling nothing at all, as though she had never been hit. The same could not be said for her stomach, which was still roiling.

 

“...What happened.” Philippa eventually demanded in a voice much smaller than she would have liked.

 

“You were hit, your highness,”

 

“ _Yes, I grasped that,_ ” Philippa snapped, clenching her fists and scowling from where she lay. “ _Who_ attacked me?”

 

29’s jaw tightened and she noticed it.

 

“He is… you might call him Chief, of where we live,” 32 provided.

 

Philippa scoffed, trying to get up, but falling back down on the blankets. That was exactly what she did not need. She was no stranger to bowing to the authority of others when it was tactically necessary to do so, but she seethed that his display of authority had been to undermine hers so physically. More than she would like to admit, she was frightened. She was not frightened by men like Lorca, no matter what they might threaten to do to her. They craved her throne, but nothing in the universe would grant them it; it was hers by birthright. Men like the Kelpien Chief, however… She clutched at the blankets.

 

“Your highness,” 29 spoke finally, his face a grimace, and Philippa noticed for the first time that his lip was split.

 

“You must stay out of his way. You will be safe here only so long as you do that.”

 

Her eyes flicked to the floor. She had an idea how he gained his injury, and how there was an understanding of sorts about her safety. She didn’t care for the idea of her attendant defending her. Not just out of pride and self-image, but because he wasn’t meant for it. Kelpien didn’t fight. She didn’t like seeing blood on him. Philippa rolled her eyes at herself, apparently growing too soft, pointing to the regenerator then fixing both adult Kelpien with an expectant look. 32 looked at her in confusion, but the child jumped up, pulling the regenerator from their hand and handing it to 29. It huddled closely, and Philippa watched carefully as it gazed at him. It wasn’t difficult to extrapolate some kind of connection, and he nodded when he noticed her staring.

 

“My… my daughter, your highness. One Eight One.”

 

She raised her brow in surprise, looking between them. Nephew or niece, perhaps, but she had never imagined 29 to have _a child_. Almost all of his time was spent within her wing of the palace. Possessiveness snaked around her even as she willed it away, and she looked at the child harshly, wondering when and how the child was conceived. And what of Michael, the daughter that 29 had attended in his years of service?.

 

“Arranged _breeding_ , your highness,” 29 spoke to her with venom she had never before heard, and she swallowed, taken aback.

 

“I will protect you,” He continued, “but do not look at my daughter that way again.”

 

181 huddled close to her father and he put his arm around her shoulders. Philippa nodded slowly, still surprised to have heard something so assertive from him. As the only ally she could truly trust, her only protection against the savage chief, and… the one that had smuggled her out of Lorca’s grasp, she could not afford to lose him. She took a breath, mustering everything she could to squash her stubbornness. Emperors did not apologise, she knew.

 

“I will not. You… have my word.”

 

He seemed to accept her words, running the regenerator over his lips to close the cut, and Philippa chose the moment to look more closely at her surroundings.  They were inside one of the huts, empty besides the blankets she lay on and the small oil lamp which flickered gently. The fabric was thick to her fingers, scratchy and uncomfortable, and she recognised it as an unrefined plant fibre. If this was where she was to sleep, she would need another covering to save her skin. It was then that she realised her hand had been healed too, turning it over to see unbroken palm. She was almost regretful. It could have made a souvenir of her escape. Philippa looked up to find all three Kelpien watching her again, and she bit down smart remarks.

 

“...What is to become of me?” She asked. She didn’t allow any creeping fear to enter her voice, but she was aware that she was - for all intents and purposes - a prisoner. A prisoner in a place where many would see her as the representative of the slave masters - and she could not deny that she was. Almost anything was infinitely preferable to torture and humiliation at Lorca’s hands, but she had not been prepared for Kelpien like their chief. She had never seen a Kelpien with murderous intent.

 

“Five Seven and I will look after you, your Highness,” 32 answered softly, and Philippa frowned, looking at her attendant.

 

“I have other responsibilities, your Highness,” 29 answered her unspoken question.

 

“Other responsibilities?” The indignance crept into her voice before she could stop it. What responsibilities other than attending her? She looked away in embarrassment as soon as the thought crossed her mind. They were servants, not servant-owners, and a village would not run itself. It was natural that each Kelpien would have tasks, and none of those tasks would be waiting on her. Her cheeks flushed at how much she had sounded like an impetuous child.

 

“To this sanctuary and to my daughter.”

 

Philippa nodded, accepting his answer reluctantly.

 

“The Chief would have you work,” he continued, and his voice was soft again, more familiar as her Kelpien. She braved looking into his eyes and they were huge and sincere.

 

“Three Two and I were able to convince him to have you work with the washers. The work is hard, but it will be less taxing on you than farming or cloth-making, and it will keep you out of his way.”

 

Her hands balled into fists again but she restrained herself. Washing. Archaic and belittling, but it was generous. She had very little knowledge of manual labour and chores, and even less experience. 29 knew that. 32 knew it. They had negotiated the best for her, despite her being in no position to demand duty from them. Philippa nodded in resignation. She could not return to the Palace until she knew it was safe, and there was a stronger possibility than she would like that she could never return. She was prepared to face death in battle, but she would not walk to slaughter like livestock.

 

“I will… work,” it sounded degrading just to say it, to acknowledge that she would allow wear and tear on royal skin. Her calling and birthright was ruling and negotiating for the Empire, not sullying her hands and herself. Had her captors been any other species, any other faction, she knew she would be enduring much worse. It was wrong and improper, but there was no choice.

 

“Five Seven and I will be with you, we will shelter you.”

 

Philippa attempted a smile at 32, but their uncomfortable expression betrayed her lack of success. She sighed, the situation circling her head. There was no fast way out. Even if she could leave their… “sanctuary” freely, which she could not be sure she could, to leave would likely spell death. Her guard finding her before Lorca or terrorist factions was a slim chance, and she was ill-equipped to navigate or defend herself. She had no choice but to resign herself to the situation.

 

“Work begins in two hours,” 32 said, and Philippa’s stomach churned with her fatigue. “I will come and fetch you. In the meantime your highness… please rest. We will do what we can.”

 

32 and 29 exchanged looks once again, and bowed to her before leaving the hut. The child - 181 - curtseyed nervously and scurried out after her father.

 

She stared at the fabric of the opening as it draped closed. She felt anger bubbling away within her, but she also felt the strain of having escaped certain death that night. She felt the aches in her feet and legs, the way her shoulders felt tense from holding on to her Kelpien, her belly bruised from the Chief’s assault on her person. She felt powerless and frustrated, unable to act. Most of all, she felt fear for Michael.

 

She bit her lip, blinking away tears that would do no good, and settled back onto the blanket. It was hard and scratchy, physically compounding her miserable situation as she closed her eyes and tried to make the most of the two hours she had been given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Sorry it took a bit longer than intended, it's been one of those times where you know the destination, but the journey takes a bit of work. Illustrations now uploaded! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa experiences her first day among the escaped Kelpien, some of whom are less than pleased by her presence in their village.

“ _You’re_ the one _threatening the stability_ of the Empire!” Michael screamed in rage, stomping a foot on the ground and balling her hands into fists. “How dare you accuse me, when _you_ would be happy to see Terrans diluted! _You_ would bring this empire to _ruin_ , bowing to the whims of lesser creatures!”

 

Philippa growled, circling her outspoken daughter, furious that her child was so short-sighted. Years of teaching, of travelling, of educating Michael about economy and sustainable expansion, ruined by the treacherous snake Lorca. He had twisted a perfect little fairytale around her and it was more attractive a prospect than the serious duties of a ruler.

 

“And why do you give _him_ free roam of the palace?!” Michael pointed at her attendant, and Philippa felt anger rise up. “Why do you not teach him his place?!”

 

“ _I raised you better than this,_ ” the Empress seethed, staring her daughter down. Michael didn’t budge, defiance written on her face. “The Empire is only as strong as the subjects within it. It is _nothing_ without those subjects, and _you_ and that _rabid dog_ you follow would do well to remember that!”

 

“ _Then the Empire is weak_ ,” Michael spat, voice low. “And so are you.”

 

She turned on her heel and stormed out, ignoring Philippa’s shouts as she ordered her daughter to stay.

 

Philippa’s hands trembled, with anger, and stronger still with despair. She had watched it happen for some years, why hadn’t she interfered sooner?! Why hadn’t she put a stop to things?

 

Her attendant came to stand by her side, silent, but invested she knew.

 

“I’m losing her,” she whispered hoarsely, feeling tears sting her eyes for the first time since childhood.

 

“I’m losing my girl.”

 

-

 

Philippa startled as something thundered down by her head, her heart hammering in her chest as her mind rushed back to reality from her troubled sleep. The lamp was still lit and she looked up at the intimidating form of the Kelpien chief, glaring down at her with venom beyond words. His hoof was beside her head, crushed into the ground to send a clear message. She barely had time to take in the sight before he bent down and grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her up so forcefully she cried out as her shoulder dislocated. The pain shot through her and she whimpered before she could help it, eyes watering with agony. With two strides, he yanked her out from the tent and threw her to the ground, and she took the force of it on her good arm and her cheek, pain searing through her head.

 

“You work, you live,” she heard the Chief growl, barely audible over her body’s protests. She clumsily tried to push her shoulder back in, panting and groaning from pain, but he kicked her hand away rendering it numb.

 

“Those are _your_ rules,” he spat, “and you will live or die by them. Get up and make yourself useful.”

 

She was in too much agony to disobey and too much shock to be indignant. She scrabbled at the ground, trying to haul herself up when the world was spinning, but collapsed again from the pain, breathing heavily. From her undignified position on the cave floor, trying to push her limp arm back into place, she could see so many pairs of hooves around her. It was strange, she felt, that she was so much more fearful of the Kelpien Chief - who would likely kill her quickly - than Gabriel Lorca who would enact unspeakable things in her torture and humiliation. _Because his need for theatrics would be his downfall_. The moment of clarity gave her a much needed jolt, and she snapped her shoulder back into place with a cry, getting on to her feet in time to dodge the chief’s hoof. He was much much stronger than her, but she wagered he wasn’t as well trained.

 

“They are not _my_ rules,” she seethed back at him as she readied her stance for a fight, and his thunderous scowl was worth her pain.

 

“Know your path before you walk it, _Kelpien_.”

 

She glared, staring him down, barely aware of the crowd of terrified Kelpien around them. Fighting, verbally and physically, were among the best skills she had to offer the Empire, and she would gladly give a demonstration.

 

“P-please stop,” Philippa startled as arms wrapped around her and 57’s tearful face looked down at her, pleading. The maid was… crying. Trembling, shaking, tears rolling down their face and ganglia extended, they clung to Philippa’s arms and tugged at her. She glanced back at the chief, but his scowl had ebbed as he had taken note of the upset Kelpien around them. He gave her a final threatening look before turning to attend to his distressed people, and Philippa felt her own anger wash away somewhat, replaced with sympathy for 57.

 

The maid repeated their request over and over, quietly sobbing until Philippa obeyed, beginning to walk where the maid indicated. 57 seemed immediately relieved, but still in shock. Philippa clicked her tongue against her teeth. She wasn’t sure what to do about it, she had never seen her own attendant cry. Of course, if Michael cried, she would hold her. It was not appropriate for an Empress to hold a Kelpien, but… no Terran would know. Philippa cautiously held 57’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze. She knew her smile seemed to register as a threatening expression, so she didn’t try one. They seemed younger than 32 and 29, and their number would confirm as much, but Philippa was a poor judge of Kelpien appearance. 57 sniffled and looked at their hands for a long while as they walked, gradually calming.

 

“Please don’t fight,” 57 whispered finally, wiping her tears with her other hand. “We don’t do that.”

 

“Your chief does,” Philippa replied softly. She should be getting angry, but she couldn’t go without soothing 57’s tears.

 

“...I wouldn’t have killed him. That’s what you’re scared of, isn’t it?”

 

The maid looked at her with huge fearful eyes, holding her hand tighter and shaking her head.

 

“I am scared he will kill you.”

 

Philippa scoffed at the wound to her pride. She could not deny he was capable of it though. He certainly wanted her to hurt. He wasn’t alone in the universe in that.

 

“...What does this mean, your highness?”

 

The maid was no longer crying, but renewed fear seemed to bubble up and they looked at their joined hands in worry.

 

“What does it… I… nothing,” Philippa responded in confusion, pulling her hand back. She had not expected to be questioned on the action. Kelpien did not seem to have any meaning to hand-holding like Vulcans did, she hadn’t anticipated a problem.

 

“Nothing. It means nothing.”

 

57 looked relieved, and their question suddenly made sense. They were asking what it meant for _them_. If the Empress holding their hand was a significant action that would change and define their life. Or their death. Were they in the palace, perhaps it would. Philippa let it go, instead looking behind them. The crowd had dispersed, and she could not see the chief anywhere, though many Kelpien were still looking at her.

 

57 led her through the sea of huts, and they passed cloth makers and basket weavers, setting up for work. A few children milled around, huddling behind adults as she passed. They were eating leaves, and she was suddenly aware of how empty her stomach was. She felt too prideful to ask for food, but she couldn’t help yearn for it.

 

They made their way towards the lake, and Philippa caught sight of where she was to work; a gathering of Kelpien sat on the banks of one of the many streams that split from the lake and disappeared into darkness, grey tunics spread over crude washboards. One of them stood, and she recognised them as 32 before they turned, noticing her with surprise.

 

“Your Highness,” The maid addressed her as they walked towards her. “You are early. I was about to…”

 

They trailed off, presumably catching sight of Philippa’s bloodied face and 57’s tearful expression. 32 came close, reaching a hand out to 57 and placing it on their arm, and 57 shuffled closer. There was something between them too, Philippa suspected, but she did not know the nature of it yet.

 

“Your Chief decided to wake me himself,” she stated bluntly, flexing the arm that had been dislocated.

 

32 looked fearful, their eyes glancing back and forth between 57 and Philippa, and she decided to take mercy on the maid.

 

“I’ll be fine. Your Chief is completely unscathed. You need not worry.”

 

Both maids seemed relieved, and 32 stepped forward to guide Philippa to the work area. She couldn’t help turn her nose up at it, but perhaps it would help provide an outlet for her fury. Some of the Kelpien avoided her eyes, a few stared at her with curiosity, and the last - and bravest - of them ignored her. 32 spoke to them in chittering words she couldn’t understand; presumably her introduction. She tried to make a little more effort for pleasantries, they weren’t her enemies.

 

“Your Highness, please sit by me,” 32 invited, sitting on one of the blankets that lined the damp rocky bank of the stream for the washers. Philippa pulled a face but obeyed, and she was glad to take her weight from her feet, so she sat next to 32. 57 joined her and handed her one of their crude washboards. They were made from a multitude of things. Some, she recognised as old window slats from a few centuries old buildings that still remained. Pieces of Earth history. She frowned, but the damage was already done. Others were repurposed panels, some plastics, some metals. Hers was plastic, transparent, the shorn cover of a tactile input console for the blind. To think it had taken two decades of back and forth in the House of Lords during her mother’s reign to instigate such a change in their imperial ships, succeeding _only_ because there was a precedent for it in Terran history, and here was the result, being used as a washboard by aliens.

 

“T-They are from abandoned things, your Highness.”

 

“Derelict does not mean abandoned,” Philippa replied quietly, and 57 squirmed. She realised she hated seeing that. More than ever before. It was only satisfying to watch those who deserved it squirm. She sighed, visibly relaxing her shoulders and angling her broken piece of rare Terran compassion into the stream as the others had.

 

“You must teach me,” Philippa changed the subject for the sake of the upset maid. 57 nodded eagerly and shuffled closer. They passed what Philippa thought was a rag her way, until she realised it was another grey tunic. Worn and muddied, from their escape or from work in their small farming platforms, she wasn’t sure which. She wrinkled her nose.

 

“L-lean the board against yourself, your Highness,” 57 demonstrated with their own, “and hold the cloth in two hands.”

 

They proceeded to rinse the cloth in the river below, before pushing it over their washboard, turning it about in their hands and occasionally dipping it again. Philippa was not impressed. The river was not warm, and they had nothing in the way of soap that she could see, she failed to see how it would clean the clothes at all. She had little choice though, unless she wanted to see where disobedience got her with the chief; a particularly unappealing option, as the pain on her cheek and side reminded her.

 

 

With a small sigh, she copied 57, leaning over and pushing her worn tunic under the surface. It was far for her to reach and she immediately felt her back complain. Pride restrained her from asking how long they would be working, but she knew it would take its toll. The sodden tunic dragged as she pulled it back up, pushing it against her board and trying to scrub it. It had no discernible effect. Aside from making her hands feel dirty. She grimaced, tired, sore and hungry, too proud to ask for relief. She repeated her actions, managing to remove some of the caked mud on raised plastic that would have once been words to somebody.

 

“Yes, like that,” 32 chimed in from beside her. Philippa sighed, but nodded quickly before her gesture could register as rude. 32 and 57 had been kind to her, when they no longer had any obligation to be so. She resolved if she was ever able to return to the palace again, to transfer their service from their lord to herself. They could have their own chambers, like her attendant.

 

“When you have finished one, give it to me.”

 

After a few more clumsy attempts, that she found embarrassing despite her conviction that no Empress should be sullying her hands in such a way, Philippa settled into a rhythm of sorts. The first tunic she handed to 32 seemed to not be satisfactory, since the Kelpien then washed it themself. The second required less supervision, and but the third elicited a frown. Philippa pushed the fourth over her board, thoughts wandering to the palace once again. She wondered if Lady Cornwell had indeed protected her throne, or if she had handed it to Lorca. If the foot soldier Tilly had been able to find Michael and reason with her. Philippa’s heart ached to think of Michael. She had failed her as a mother, exposed her to untold risks, allowed Lorca too much opportunity. She felt no resentment toward her daughter, only a pained regret that she hadn’t protected her enough to prevent her being involved with terrorists. Michael would believe they wouldn’t just as soon kill her for the crown, but Philippa knew better. Her little girl was in grave danger.

 

She pushed the next tunic over her board, having since lost count, her eyes closing. She tried to ignore the fatigue, to ignore her aching shoulders. She couldn’t spare the thought, she needed to decide how she would return to the palace, how to save her daughter. She needed allies. Allies beyond escapee servants. Allies who could fight. Connections. A way to receive public broadcasts, as she knew Lorca would not hesitate to gloat, and instigate every change he had support for. Her Kelpien were right to flee, she realised. He would cull them the moment he had power. She cast a glance over those in her company and felt familiar possessiveness. Lorca had no right over her subjects, and he had no interest in serving them as royalty was duty-bound to.

 

Philippa yawned, not quite recalling whether she had rinsed the current tunic once or twice. She was losing track of time, having barely slept. The cloth almost slipped from her fingers in fatigue and she gripped it anew, not opening her sore eyes. She felt heavy, exhausted. She moved her arm to pull the tunic over the washboard, but the weight was tiring. She had to wake up. Hands pulled at her and she finally opened her eyes to find 32 holding her, saving her from falling face-first into the stream.

 

“Your Highness…”

 

Philippa hummed in response, her eyes closing again of their own accord. She sighed heavily in an effort to refresh herself, but she leaned too heavily into 32’s arms and felt herself drift. She wondered how she could return to the palace, if she could use the Kelpien tunnels. Could she remember the way? Would her attendant agree to show her the way? The tunic slipped from her hands but she barely noticed, only feeling 32 steady her.

 

“Sleep then,” 32’s soft voice seemed like it was floating around her, and she had an awareness of being lowered to the ground before she fell asleep.-

 

-

 

She awoke with a stark reminder of her needs; hungry, thirsty, and in need of a bathroom. She was huddled by 32’s legs, and she rose quickly, a lifetime of ruling making her remove herself from a subservient position.

 

“Good morning,” 32 looked at her kindly, and even some of the other Kelpien had softened in expression. Philippa flushed a little, nodding in return. She did not know how long she had been asleep, but it had been pleasantly dreamless and restful. She was exhausted still, but awake. Shifting herself back into position, she pulled her board back over her knees, and 57 gave her a shy small smile as they passed a tunic to her.

 

“How long was I asleep?” Philippa asked quietly, pushing the cloth over the board.

 

“Almost four hours,” 32 responded, accepting the cloth she handed to them. “It is nearly midday.”

 

“...Thank you,” Philippa physically struggled with the words. “For allowing me to sleep.”

 

The Kelpien near-beamed at her, and the empress returned to her work diligently. It was not so awful; 32 and 29 had spared her worse work. The washers had formed a production line, something she had not noticed before her rest, and she was near the end. The clothes were passed down the line, washed by each in turn, until they reached the end presumably clean. That was why she was tasked with handing hers to 32, she realised, and she resolved to try and ensure she was not giving the maid undue work.

 

“Thirty Two,” Philippa whispered to the maid after a long pause. Her cheeks flushed. She was a practical woman, and not afraid of the unpleasantries of reality, but there were still things Empresses were expected to not speak of.

 

“T-Three Two, please your highness.”

“...All right. Three Two. I… must ask something,”

 

32 turned to her, leaning close, obviously understanding that Philippa wished to be discreet.

 

“Where does one go to… relieve one’s self?”

 

She could have laughed at herself, had she not felt so vulnerable having to ask. 32 took a moment to understand her request, but smiled in sympathy. It was a sweet expression. Perhaps a little too patronising, but sweet.

 

“Of course, I will show you,” 32 set down their washboard and stood, and Philippa followed suit. The other Kelpien barely acknowledged them, saving her the embarrassment, for which Philippa was grateful. They set off around the rocks towards the lake and the many streams coming from it, and she groaned when she began to suspect what exactly they had that passed as a toilet. They entered one of the small caverns a particular stream entered, and Philippa was not surprised to see grasses draped from the cavern roof to produce a crude set of stalls that still didn’t offer much in the way of privacy. Her face fell at the thought of it, and 32 bowed apologetically.

 

“I am sorry we cannot offer more. I will wait outside. Your highness-” Philippa stopped in her tracks, halfway to the grass, and looked back at 32.

 

“Please do not go downriver. The cave submerges, it is dangerous.”

 

The Empress nodded. Given her purpose in the cave, and presumably the purpose of any Kelpien that entered it, it was the last one she wanted to try exploring. She strode over to the ‘stalls’, selecting one that seemed the most sheltered, and pushed through the grasses. She could see that a few others were occupied, compounding her embarrassment, but she had to accept the situation. She felt disgusted the moment her feet entered the cold water, despite that it was running. Her consolation was that Lorca was robbed of the opportunity to see her degraded in such a way.

 

After struggling with her tunic, she managed to somewhat prepare herself, wishing she could stand more than she ever thought possible. The half a minute it took to empty her bladder felt like half an hour, and afterwards she felt the desperate want for a way to feel cleaner. The Empress of the Terran Empire, however, could do nothing other than grimace and dress herself again. Just as she was about to leave her stall, she spied something on the rocks just outside of it, and smiled in relief when she realised what it was. Soap. An old fashioned bar of soap - albeit almost used up - and taking it, it was very clearly from the palace. The rich and the wealthy liked to indulge themselves in old-fashioned bathing, and since Kelpien were frequently tasked with bathing them, Kelpien knew exactly where to get soap. It was a small satisfaction and she gladly washed her hands before returning it to it’s little pedestal. She found herself strangely proud that they had taken soap, and glad for it.

 

Philippa returned to the entrance where 32 was waiting, and the maid smiled at her. She nodded in return, but she felt small returning to the Kelpien, like a supervised child. She raised her chin and pushed it aside.

 

“You… must be hungry, your Highness,” 32 offered, sparing Philippa the shame of asking, though she couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. She was famished, and her stomach rumbled as if on cue, making her flush. Her entire body seemed to be determined to betray her very mortal status.

 

“Please, follow me,” 32 held her hand, almost excitedly guiding her back to the washing stream and addressing the others in their language. A few of them rose, including 57, who looked at their clasped hands in confusion. She shrugged at the maid. 32 had forgotten themself, forgotten it was the hand of the Terran Empress they held, but Philippa couldn’t see an advantage to reprimanding them. It benefitted her to allow it at that time.

 

Their group entered the sea of huts again, though they didn’t walk too far before they came to a circle of open tents. Kelpien milled around each one, preparing food. There were no particularly strong smells, and Philippa could only see leaves and roots, remembering they were herbivorous. An advantage to them in their hiding; they would not have to hunt game and further risk detection. Still holding her hand, 32 led her to the closest hut, with a selection of steamed leaves; her stomach rumbled again. She edged closer, not realising she gripped 32’s hand tighter, eliciting a surprising short laugh from the maid. It wasn’t unkind, but she whipped her head to stare in disbelief at the Kelpien. She hadn’t heard her attendant laugh in so long, she had almost forgotten they could laugh. She felt brief sorrow at the thought but pushed it down, giving 32 a weak careful smile.

 

“Would you like it? They are Earth vegetation, it is the most suitable to grow,” 32 asked her, and Philippa nodded.

 

“That would please me.”

 

The Kelpien attending the steaming leaves shook their head, blocking 32 from filling a small bowl with them, chattering in a tense tone. She could hazard a guess at the topic. Philippa chewed her lip, considering her options. Shouting was indeed one, and many would cow to her raised voice. Yet she realised, with great discomfort, that she found herself concerned that their chief would involve himself - wherever he was. She could attempt to simply take the food, but her strength and speed were no match for any Kelpien. As 32 seemed to respond in a pleading tone, it seemed the best option was to plead herself. If not for food, then for water, she’d had none in over sixteen hours. Pride would not sustain her for much longer.

 

“I request-“ Philippa halted her commanding loud tone, annoyed that her best habit was a great hinderance in her current situation. She continued as softly as she could, addressing both 32 and the Kelpien guarding the food.

 

“...I would like… please, food and water. ...Please.” She repeated, when they seemed unreceptive to her words, simply staring at her.

 

32 smiled cordially at the other Kelpien, beginning to fill the bowl with leaves before they were stopped once again. The other Kelpien held onto their steaming pot protectively and refused any more, so 32 handed her the bowl. Five leaves. Philippa tried not to look ungrateful or allow herself anger, it would be a sure way to be denied more food. 32 led her back outside the hut, and she picked at the leaves. She had no idea what they were, she couldn’t even be certain they were safe to eat, but she was weak with hunger and out of patience, placing one in her mouth. She tried not to gag as the taste hit her; exactly as one would expect, like wood and soil. With no seasonings or oils or lard, she would hardly call it edible. She covered her mouth, grimacing and trying to force her way through it. 32 laughed softly and guided her to a seat on one of the rugs where others from their small group sat. Philippa was envious then, seeing the others bite down on the leaves as though they were pleasant and filling.

 

“I shall see what I can find for you, your Highness,” 32 assured her with a smile and rose to enter another of the hits, leaving Philippa with the group. None spoke to her, chattering in words she couldn’t understand, so she picked at another leaf. Any other option could be even less palatable, and she wasn’t sure how often she would be… fed. It was important to have what she could.

 

“H-hmm…”

 

 

 

Philippa turned round to face the owner of the small voice. A child, her attendant’s child, towering over her as even a young Kelpien could. She seemed impossibly thin, but her eyes were as large and sincere as her father’s, and she wore one of the cloaks Philippa had seen on Kelpien that tended to the palace gardens. 181 held something in her hands, looking nervous, and she kneeled down next to the Empress.

 

“F-father… told me un… hm… here,” She held out her hands and opened them, and Philippa smiled as she realised what she was being offered. Berries and nuts. Not many, but something more suitable for her than the leaves. 181 poured them into the bowl, and twirled her fingers around, trying to communicate something.

 

“Leaves,” the child said, clasping her hands together to make a closed sphere. “With leaves. Good.”

 

Philippa nodded, gleaning meaning from it. They were to be eaten together. It didn’t seem too appetising, but she trusted her attendant to know what was best. She wrapped a leaf around a berry and a nut, eating it all together. It was unpleasant compared to her usual dining, but she had eaten worse in the interest of furthering diplomacy. The girl watched her with a curiosity unblemished by wariness, and Philippa smiled at her.

 

“Thank you. Have you eaten too?” She asked, gesturing to the girl and then her bowl, gathering that the child couldn’t speak fluent Earth Standard like her attendant and maids could. 181 nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest, and hooking her long lanky arms around them.

 

“Has your father eaten?”

 

181 shook her head, glancing up at one of the farming platforms. Philippa followed her gaze, her eyes landing directly on 29, looking down at her. She couldn’t have been sure it was him, from that distance, if it weren’t for the small bow he gave before returning to his work. She stared for a moment, more moved than she expected to be. He knew that she needed the proteins and sugars she wouldn’t get from what was on offer at the huts, and had made sure she got it. He didn’t have to do it. She had not ordered it, she had not even requested it. He had done such a thing even after she had lashed out at him. ...Bit him.

 

She flushed a little at the thought. It had been a rather immature thing to do at best, and entirely unnecessary. She trusted her attendant implicitly, that was why he was her attendant. That was why she allowed him to carry her from the palace, that was why she trusted his direction. Had any other done the same in his place, she might have slain them the moment they laid hand on her, but not him. It was unbecoming of her to have acted in such a way, and a disservice to him.

 

“Father said…” 181 interrupted her thoughts, and Philippa turned back to the child. She seemed to pause to try and remember, repeating his words in a string of broken Mandarin.

 

“He will… walk with you, after washing. After finished. To wait by the stream.”

 

Philippa nodded, smiling as kindly as she could at the slight thing. Her initial indignance had given way to endearment the moment the child talked. 181 did not look at her as the older Kelpien did, wary and expecting the worst. She looked at her as Michael had looked at her when she was only eight years of age. With wide-eyed wonderment, and need.

 

“May I ask…” Philippa began delicately. She realised she would benefit having 181 around, it changed the way she spoke much more than her conscious efforts.

 

“Where your mother is?”

 

181 looked down at the ground, and it was all Philippa needed to know. She resolved not to ask 29 of it either.

 

“This is very nice,” Philippa lied to change the subject, eating the last of her small portion of food. She wasn’t looking forward to the same again, especially since her attendant may not be able to secure extra for her another time. 181 smiled back, splitting into a grin that demonstrated that strange alien too-wide mouth Kelpien had.

 

“Your Highness,” both of them looked round to see 32 returning with another bowl and a cup. The maid took a seat on the other side of Philippa, handing her the cup of water, which she took gratefully. She did not look too closely at it, expecting the worst when she placed it to her lips, but to her surprise it tasted clean and fresh. She gulped it down too fast, unconcerned with dignity when she needed it so much.

 

“We cannot filter water as fast as it is needed, your Highness. We do not have the means.”

 

“The… alternative?” The Empress asked slowly, certain she already knew.

 

“The drinking stream. It is the river that runs into this cavern. You require much water, do you not?”

 

“...I do,” Philippa admitted. She had finished her cup, and it was not nearly enough.

 

“Then I will show you the way, and you may drink more. Please, eat first.”

 

She nodded, taking the offered second bowl. The leaves were darker, softened to ribbons by the steam, and she recognised it as something a little more palatable; spinach. It was cloying and drying, but at least better than the other leaves, and she finished it off quickly whilst 32 chattered to 181 in Kelpien. She was far from full, but it would have to do.

 

32 took the bowl and handed it to another Kelpien who scowled at Philippa, and she narrowed her eyes in return before she could catch herself. She was thankful neither 32 nor 181 had seen.

 

“One Eight One, would you like to drink too?” 32 asked the child, and 181 shook her head, struggling for words.

 

“I will visiting father,” she turned to Philippa and gave her clumsy curtsy, a few Kelpien around her frowning at the display.

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

The Empress watched the child leave, and couldn’t help but smile a little. 181 was as tall as a full-grown Terran already, and Philippa was certain she’d grow as tall as her father.

 

32 beckoned her over, and she fell into step with the maid as they picked their way between huts. No longer exhausted, tense, or distracted, she took the time to examine the Kelpien. They seemed a similar age to 29, fine wrinkles around their large eyes, and well-defined ridges shaping their face. Their crest was larger, she noticed, which was true of 57 and 181 too. 32’s skin was not as speckled and varied as 29’s however, but Philippa couldn’t guess what it meant. Kelpien were almost homogenous in colour after their captivity to Klingon and their allies, so she could not imagine a Kelpien that wasn’t an orange-pink. 32 caught her eye and smiled, and Philippa began to recognise it as familial in some way.

 

“You may visit the drinking stream at any time, your Highness,” 32 told her kindly. “But it may be best if you are accompanied by myself, Five Seven, or Two Nine. Some of those among the village will be less than pleased by your presence.”

 

“Is that a threat?” Philippa demanded, but she sighed and softened herself again, eliciting an even wider smile from 32.

 

“There are so few here that would harm you, your Highness. I will admit, I am surprised by…”

 

The maid reached to touch her injured cheek, and Philippa instinctively pulled away, seemingly startling 32 into remembering the way of things. 32 dropped their gaze and bowed a little, looking regretful and even a little fearful. As was proper, but then there was nothing proper about the situation. Not whilst Philippa walked barefoot in rags, washing clothes in exchange for her life.

 

“I-I plead for forgiveness, your Highness.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive. I granted you permission to touch me when I granted you permission to dress me. I have not yet revoked that permission,” the Empress answered her bluntly, knowing she was twisting a technicality. She didn’t care for making 32 cower.

 

The maid breathed in relief, but she didn’t try again, instead leading Philippa through the last of the huts to the water’s edge. They walked upstream and Philippa grimaced in pain with every step, worsened by slippery rocks. Her skin would break again, if it hadn’t already.

 

“...When will my clothes and boots be returned to me?”

 

32 met her eyes reluctantly, coming to a halt inside the cavern. There were two Kelpien upstream, kneeled over the river and catching water in their hands to drink. Philippa cringed.

 

“The chief does not wish them returned to you. I… I am sorry.”

 

“What will be done with them?” Philippa narrowed her eyes, displeased. She should not have expected differently, as a prisoner, but 32 did not treat her as a prisoner. She had images of her armour becoming a washboard, the craftsmanship dismissed.

 

“The metals are to be melted down and reforged. The l-leathers-“

 

“What?” She demanded crossly enough that the two other Kelpien in the cave stopped to watch them. 32 looked at her with regret, trying to guide her to the water. Philippa relented and kneeled by the stream, but she still looked up, expecting an answer.

 

“The armour. We can make it into rivets, nails. Things the village needs.”

 

“And my sword?”

 

“The chief has claimed it.”

 

Philippa didn’t like that at all, glaring at the water before cupping her hands and bringing some to her lips, too angry to feel indignant. Her sword was symbolic of the crown. Royal. It could not belong to anybody, only to her. Only, she had hoped, to Michael. She also needed it. Most of her personal guard were dead, perhaps all if the foot soldier Tilly had not fared well after her departure, and her attendant was a Kelpien.

 

Philippa shook her head, and brought more water to her mouth. She barely noticed any taste, mind racing through her next steps. The sword was not her highest priority. If she had to find another weapon, so be it. A phaser would likely suit her purpose better. She did however need her boots, lest her feet became too injured for her to do anything, and her bracelet was safely hidden under the tunic she wore. She would need to find out what was happening on the surface, she would need a receiver, or parts enough for one. From the scraps of technology she had seen in the cave, there was a possibility the Kelpien had one, but she would need to play by their rules to find out.

 

Philippa took a final drink from the stream, her thirst satisfied for a while, and stood to notice all three Kelpien watching her cautiously. She turned to 32 for explanation, and the maid hesitated a moment.

 

“You are angry.”

 

Philippa raised an eyebrow, but she bit down the sardonic remark as she realised 32 was not looking at her in fear, so much as anticipation. All of them were. It occurred to her that they expected something. She sighed. Shouting, violence, manipulation, all had become notable Terran traits, and she was no different. She shook her head.

 

“Not with you. Not even… with your leader. I would only ask for my boots then, if the rest is no longer my property. I cannot work if I cannot walk.”

 

32 nodded in relief, daring to step closer again and smile.

 

“Of course. My apologies, I will speak to the chief after our day is done.”

 

They walked back to the laundry stream in silence, and Philippa found the time passed quicker once she returned. The gentle hum of Kelpien chatter was almost soothing, and they looked upon her more kindly. A few did, at least. She concentrated on continuing to formulate plans whilst she scrubbed at the tunics and the Kelpien talked among themselves. She thought herself around in circles, of the equipment and intel she needed, of how lacking her guard or Terran subjects put her in a much weaker position than she wanted to acknowledge. Whether she liked it or not - and she did not - she had to rely on her few reluctant Kelpien allies.

 

Deep in her thoughts, Philippa did not hear the heavy hooffall behind her until she was roughly yanked up by the back of the collar like a disobedient pet. She growled, not needing to try and turn to know it was the Chief once more. He spun her around whilst the Kelpien nearby recoiled, but he didn’t raise his fist. His eyes were narrowed with a thirst for vengeance, she would recognise it in any species, and her breathing quickened. Her sword was draped by his side, in a display of power more recognisable as Terran… and foolish. If she were fast enough, she could disarm him and run him through. The way he looked at her, that all too Terran expression, she wanted to. She stayed her hand.

 

“I have heard you want this,” He snarled, indicating her weapon. She stared him down and gave no response, internally noting that she should not have let the two Kelpien at the drinking stream hear her talk with 32. An unfortunate oversight. Her adrenaline rose as he straightened out, towering above her, his hand large around her neck. He smiled faintly, a cruelness she never expected to see worn by a Kelpien, and his fingers curled painfully, digging into her skin.

 

“You own _nothing_ ,” his voice was venomous, punctuated by a flex of his hand around her neck. With rough force he began marching her away from the washers, and Philippa twisted enough to glance at 32, their eyes locking for a brief moment, worry written on the maid’s face. She stumbled as the chief pushed her forwards, breath catching in her throat where it was constricted by the chief’s hand. “You have nothing. You have no title, you have no name. You are nothing.”

 

His words meant little to her, none could take her birthright, but his touch made her furious. It frightened her, and she hated it. Philippa pulled away in rage, writhing to escape his grip, but his hand closed around her throat fully, pressing painfully. She spluttered with shortness of breath, trying to pull his hand away with her own. With sinking terror, it became clear to her she would never have the strength to remove his hand alone, but she kept instinctively trying regardless, her breath in short raspy gasps. She was dizzy, disoriented, and in pain. Her hands began to fall, her legs giving way, and she felt fury that she could not defend herself. Her vision blurred before, in a deliberate movement, the chief released his grip, letting her drop to the floor at his feet. Philippa coughed and spluttered and gasped, and 32 was by her side in an instant, trying to help her breathe.

 

“Please,” The maid addressed the chief in a shaking voice, their arms around the Empress in protection - there were advantages to co-operating with the Kelpien. “She has done as instructed, she has worked. She wanted only for her footwear.”

 

“Then wanting she will stay. ...This is too good for the likes of you,” the chief fixed Philippa with a glare, waving his hand at the washers. “Tomorrow you will serve, as every Kelpien has.”

 

Philippa swallowed, displeased with his tone. Dying with dignity in battle was far preferable to being taken as a slave, and for the first time since she had arrived, she felt a brief but true harrowing glimmer of fear at what her predicament could spell out for her.

 

“You will bring her to me at dawn,” he commanded 32. “And she will serve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this chapter has been finished for ages, but the illustration wasn't! Here it finally is. I wasn't very happy with it, but I think I need to push on into chapter four. I really hope you enjoy it anyway!


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